The Lestrange Girl
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: *AU* By Ministry decree, Muggle-born children are adopted into pure-blood families, turning Hermione's life into every little witch's fairy tale. But her step-father's death & a new man in the picture unhinge her step-mother's sanity. What is it about Tom Riddle that unnerves Hermione & why is he so interested in her relationship with her adoptive cousin Draco? (Dramione) MATURE
1. Happy Birthday Hermione

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**1) ****For story purposes some characters may behave OoC. I only ask that you bear with me for a little while as the story events nudge those characters toward the personalities they exhibit in the canon.******

**2) **As stated in other A/N's, new fics will **_**not**_** cause a delay in updating the original fic list, they will simply be added into the update schedule, regardless of their chapter number.****

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><p><span><strong>My other <strong>_**HP **_**Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Dame Blanche _(Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry] **at** **5th chapter**)

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP; _only _on AFF. net] **at** **5th chapter**)

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact _(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry;** at 5th chapter**)

_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Mortality _([AU] Dramione)

_Nights at Malfoy Manor _(Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione; **at 5th chapter**)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius] **at 5th chapter**)

_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione; **at** **5th chapter**)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory_ ([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry])

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><p><strong>DISCLAIMER<strong>**: ****_Harry Potter _****characters & certain other key elements(c) JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Happy Birthday Hermione

_**Ten Years Ago . . . .**_

The little girl sat in the large, strange office, uncertain quite what to expect. Surely the kindly-looking old gentleman seated at the desk—with his long, hooked nose, and twinkly eyes behind his half-moon spectacles—was treating her well enough, but the circumstances were simply so bizarre.

When she'd first heard that Muggle children with powers were taken from their families, she'd feared the worst. Fanciful imaginings of creatures snatching her away in the night, drawn by her ability crowded her mind. Yet, when her mother saw Hermione fix the cracks in the mirror with nothing more than the touch of her fingertip upon the glass, the Muggle woman had both laughed and cried.

The girl was very confused as to how one could rejoice while wiping away tears, but her parents had done just that. And then sent a missive to a place called the Ministry of Magic. But that was supposed to be a wonderful place! Hermione couldn't equate the tales of beautiful witches and powerful wizards presiding justly and peacefully over the world with monstrous beings who would steal children.

Yet, this man Dumbledore—the Minister of Magic, himself, Mum said, with a delighted gasp and a curtsy—had arrived in person once word had reached him of such a curious first sign of magic. He'd smiled all the while, chatting with Hermione like a gentle, patient grandfather.

And he was such an inquisitive old man, nearly making her feel as though she was speaking with another child. Only when her mother fussed to pack her things while Dumbledore and Father discussed matters over tea did the reality sink it.

She _was_ being taken away!

Mum had dried her sudden wash of frightened and sad tears, explaining that Hermione was destined to grow into one of the beautiful witches from the stories; she _must_ be with her own kind. Muggles would never be able to understand her, no matter how they tried, nor how much they loved her.

As she sat in Dumbledore's carriage, she'd turned on the seat and climbed onto her knees. Her face and palms plastered against the back window, she watched her parents shrink and disappear into the distance.

She thought her heart was breaking . . . . Until she saw the Ministry of Magic, gleaming white and gold like some palace of legend as Dumbledore's driver helped her hop down from the carriage. And, in that very childlike way, she found herself distracted from her sorrows.

Now, as she sat here with the Minister, she couldn't help fidgeting. Wondering what, exactly, was in store for her, yet a little afraid to ask.

But then, fear had never stopped Hermione from much.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, drawing his attention from the dish of lemon drops on his desk, "what are we waiting for?" She'd thought they were here to do some official, imposing tasks—test her, somehow, make certain she was _really_ a witch, things of that nature.

"Ah, yes. Miss . . . . No, no. I cannot call you Miss Granger, as that is no longer your name." He either ignored, or did not notice the way her chestnut eyes flew wide at this bit of information. "Hermione, it is most important that when we find a Muggle-born witch or wizard, we place them with a family who's power level is a good match for the child. It is the only way to ensure that child learns properly."

"I'm sorry, sir," she said again, her brow furrowing. "How can you tell if I'm a good match for anyone? I don't even know what I can do."

He held out the dish, offering her a lemon drop. Biting her lip—and a little terrified to say no—she took one, obediently popping the candy into her mouth. Nodding, Dumbledore took one, as well, speaking only after he'd made a few satisfied, lip-smacking sounds.

"From the way your magic first manifests. If the sign is something small—intuiting something before it happens, or fixing a _single_ crack in a broken mirror—then so is the magic that person wields. Your mother said the glass was _shattered_, yet you mended the entire thing all with a single touch."

The old man seemed quite delighted by this, yet Hermione felt an icy fear pooling in the pit of her stomach. "I didn't know that would happen! I wasn't trying to, I only wished I could fix it because Mum loves that mirror!"

He uttered a warm chuckle and she found herself miraculously soothed. "And_ that_ is a wonderful thing, my dear. You weren't _trying_, yet you wanted it to happen, and it did! It is also why we must fit you with an appropriately powerful family. Don't let them scare you, their first appearance can be a bit . . . intimidating for some."

Hermione forced a gulp, nearly swallowing the lemon drop whole by accident. Her gaze darted about the room suddenly, looking for places to hide.

Then a knock sounded at the door and she froze.

Dumbledore reached across his desk, patting her hand gently as he called out, "Who comes?"

"You summoned _us_, Minister," a lazy, drawling female voice answered through the ornately gilded door.

Those twinkling eyes crinkled at the corners as he whispered to the child, "It's all right, my dear. Sometimes I find them intimidating, too." Raising his voice, he said, "Enter."

The door swung open, and in swept a tall woman with wealth of tumbling dark locks and enormous jet eyes set into a face like porcelain. She was clad in a gown of rich, black velvet, complimented by a matched cape.

Behind her stood a large, broad-shouldered man, equally dark with a ruddy complexion. Yet he wasn't as awe-inspiring—or, perhaps terrifying—as the woman. Hermione thought perhaps that had to do with her instant impression that this, though powerful, wizard didn't appear very bright.

The witch didn't greet Dumbledore with anything more than a quick, subtle nod of her head. Immediately she swiveled about, looking over Hermione.

Thin, raspberry-matte painted lips dropped open in an _O._ "This is her, then? Funny, never thought you'd be able to find us one who has the same trouble with her hair as I do mine."

Hermione gave a little jump, reflexively reaching to touch a hand to her long, wild mane of golden-brown.

Letting out a barking laugh—which caused the girl to jump again—the witch shook her head. "She's precious." She spoke over her shoulder, but kept her gaze on Hermione. "What's her name?"

"Hermione. She is eight years old. Documents are right here, whenever you deign to turn around, Bellatrix."

"Getting to that," Bellatrix said, her dark eyes rolling as she spun on a heel. She drew her wand, tapping a parchment scroll open on Dumbledore's desk, her signature glowing briefly as it appeared across the surface. "Apologies Minister, I'm merely anxious to get her home and settled."

Hermione's eyes flew wide once more. She'd heard everything Dumbledore had explained, but she'd not really thought it through until _just_ now. Until this woman mentioned getting her _home_.

These people were—

"Hermione, my dear," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair and coming around the desk, "meet Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. Your new parents."

Bellatrix turned back to face the girl, as Rodolphus smiled at her, but remained silent.

_I cannot call you Miss Granger, as that is no longer your name. _Hermione swallowed hard, uncertain when the candy had finally dissolved, it simply wasn't there, anymore. She stood, holding Bellatrix's gaze.

Hermione understood her situation, and decided she ought to become accustomed to it. Even if thinking on it too much made her throat ache, and the tip of her nose sting. "Does this make me Hermione Lestrange?"

Bellatrix's . . . no, _Mother's_ eyebrows lifted as she nodded. "It most certainly does. Come along now, dear. Let's get you home."

During the carriage ride to the Lestrange Estate, Hermione couldn't recall anything her new mother had said. She remembered cooing sounds, and chuckling—the witch had a boisterous, almost masculine laugh. Hermione didn't know if she liked that or hated it. And touching. There was a lot of her hair being petted, and her nails examined, her attire picked at.

She was too busy trying not to think of her Muggle parents and what they might be doing right now. Were they talking about having another baby? One who might be a Muggle, like them, so he or she wouldn't be taken away?

But Mother seemed to know just when to break into her reverie. "Look there," Bellatrix said, pointing a long-nailed finger out the window. "That's your new home."

Pushing out of the cushioned seat to follow the witch's attention, Hermione found herself staring at mansion of charcoal-grey. The structure looked like a small castle, and its fence—of the same dark stone as the house—surrounded a notable swath of land. And, toward the back, Hermione thought she spied . . . .

"Is that a stable?"

"Of course it is," Rodolphus said, his voice deep and unsettling—Hermione thought now she understood why he let his wife do most of the talking—but his tone was mystified, as though he didn't understand anyone _not_ having a stable. But his smile was warm, it made the girl feel welcome.

As the carriage pulled toward the Estate's wide front steps, Hermione saw a pale-haired couple. They had a boy with them, sharing their silvery-blonde hair and fair complexions. He looked like he was probably her age.

"That's my sister Narcissa, and her husband Lucius. Suppose that makes them your aunt and uncle. They're here for the day to meet you. And that's their son, Draco."

"So I have a cousin?" Hermione smiled, happy to see another child's face among the sea of adults she'd encountered.

She waved, but Draco only narrowed his stony-grey eyes. Curling his lip, he stuck his tongue out at her. "I don't like him," she concluded.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus laughed at this. "Give it time. Maybe he'll grow on you," Bellatrix said, her tone lightly teasing.

Hermione didn't understand the pitch of her voice, but Rodolphus—_Father_, the girl corrected herself—made a _tsking_ sound. "Honestly, Bella, they're only children. Don't go planning futures, already."

Bellatrix shrugged her perfect shoulders, those large, dark eyes rolling. "A Muggle-born marrying into their adoptive family is fairly common, is all I meant."

"Never going to happen," Hermione declared as the carriage rolled to a stop. "I don't even like the look of him."

Her gaze moving over her new daughter, Bellatrix nodded in approval. This girl was strong, and stubborn. Their little family was going to get on well.

Hermione never did see the suitcase her Muggle mum had packed for her. Mother insisted the house elves must've misplaced it and took the opportunity to immediately order the girl a wardrobe _befitting a child of House Lestrange,_ she'd said.

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><p><em><strong>And Now . . . .<strong>_

She hated the dress. Frowning, she whirled in front of the mirror.

The velvet bodice and long, trailing skirt of spider-web lace were gorgeous and hugged her as though the garment had been designed specifically to fit her, despite that she'd not been measured for it. All right, so she didn't hate the dress. There was even a long, narrow pocket in the lacy folds of the skirt so she had a place to carry her wand.

Grinning in spite of herself at the ingenuity, she picked up her wand and slid it into the concealed sleeve. Perfect fit, as well.

She _liked_ the beautiful black dress—she hated that it was from _him_. But he made Mother happy, and she supposed that counted for something.

Hermione felt a dull ache in her chest. The only time Mother seemed to forget she was sad was when _he_ was around.

Her door creaked open, and Hermione hurried to wipe her cheeks. She'd not felt any tears fall, but she made the gesture to be certain.

"Let's see then," Bellatrix cooed, slinking into the room.

Forcing a smile onto her lips, Hermione spun, looking up at the older witch. Mother was still a few inches taller than she—and now that she was officially eighteen years old, always would be—yet the weight she'd lost since Father's passing made her seem so small, and frail, and delicate. Her enormous eyes looked even larger; owl-like in her pale face.

"You look lovely." Mother tangled her fingers in Hermione's hair and tugged it back, winding the messy locks into an untidy, but strangely becoming up-do. "Tom will be so pleased."

After a few turns, Bellatrix's hand sweeping across the young woman's shoulders, and arms—ten years, and still with all the touching—she gently caught her daughter's wrist. "C'mon, then. Let's go show him how nice you look in it."

Hermione stopped, tugging her mother to a halt ahead of her. "Wait, he's here, now?"

"Of course he is." Bellatrix turned back and smiled brightly, a disquieting gleam in her eyes. "It's all right if he's here for your birthday, isn't it?"

_So soon?_ Hermione swallowed hard, fighting the sudden sting of tears gathering. Certainly he was here often, but on a personal, important day? "I thought . . . I thought it would be just you and me, Mother." This was her first birthday without Father, after all. But she wouldn't say that, just now.

She wasn't certain she could handle the hurt look that would play across mother's face if Bellatrix thought Hermione was suggesting she no longer cared.

"Sure." Hermione hoped her smile didn't falter. "Only . . . do you think I could go to the Manor first? Visit with Aunt Cissy for a bit?"

Bellatrix's eyebrows drew together and her bottom lip trembled as it pulled into a pout.

Hermione panicked, fearing the woman was about to burst into tears. "You could have a pleasant tea," she said, hurrying the words out to cut off any potential sobbing, "just you and Tom, and then I'll be back for dinner. Maybe I'll even bring Draco, all right?"

Nodding, her mother's expression brightened in a blink. "Certainly, that sounds good. But at least let him see you before you pop out."

Hermione could think of nothing more to say. Groaning inwardly, she allowed the older witch to tug her along the corridor and down the spiral staircase to the first floor.

Bellatrix pulled the girl into the sitting room. To Hermione's dread, Tom Riddle sat right _there_, in the arm chair before the window, so that the first thing she saw when she stepped inside was his face. Those rich brown eyes locked on hers.

"Ah, Hermione," he said, smiling perfect, gleaming white teeth at her, "that dress is perfect on you. Really stunning, I thought it would be." His eyebrows lifted, meeting the sleek, dark curls tumbling over his forehead. "I hope it's an adequate birthday present."

Forcing the corners of her mouth higher, the young woman nodded. "It's a beautiful dress, thank you."

She knew Mother was beaming beside her as the man rose from the chair and crossed the room, but Hermione fought the desire to recoil as he drew closer. Strangely, she couldn't put her finger on what it was about him that so unnerved her, only a bizarre, instinctive response to his presence in the pit of her stomach.

"I will see you both later," Hermione said, just barely keeping her words from rushing together.

Tom arched an eyebrow.

Hermione held his gaze, swallowing hard. If she didn't know better, she'd swear he picked up on how much his presence upset her. And that he might even enjoy it.

"She's going to visit with Narcissa and Lucius for tea. She'll be back later."

Immediately his expression lightened. It always did at mention of his old friend, Lucius. And his attention was positively riveted whenever Hermione spoke of Draco—even if she said nothing of any importance. Oddly, Tom seemed less enthusiastic when anyone else talked about him . . . unless Hermione's name popped up in the conversation in connection to Draco's.

"Ah, well then," he rested his palms on Hermione's shoulders and dropped a kiss on her cheek, "you'll give them my regards, won't you? It has been far too long since I've seen them."

Nodding, Hermione found herself unable to respond until he dropped his hands from her. "Of course. I'll . . . just be going, then."

Turning away, she stood on her toes to brush her lips against her mother's cheek before she slipped from the room. She thought her knees would buckle as soon as she was in the corridor, but she willed her legs to carry her through the foyer and out the massive double doors.

Once outside she spun, pressing her back to the exterior wall as she drew a steadying breath. She wanted to wipe her cheek and scrub at her shoulders. The dress's thin straps provided little coverage, leaving much skin-to-skin contact when he'd placed his hands on her just now.

But if any of the elves saw her doing anything so odd, they'd inform Mother. She couldn't imagine explaining the purifying gestures to the woman without giving away how very much she disliked Tom.

Frowning, she pushed away from the wall. Hermione wished she was enough. Turning on her heel, she stared up at the Estate. She wished Mother could be happy with only her—wished that there was no need for Tom.

That boisterous, barking laugh exploded from the window of the sitting room and Hermione's heart sank. Mother hadn't laughed like that—hadn't _truly_ laughed—since before Father died.

Biting her lip, she held in tears as she Apparated to the grounds of Malfoy Manor.


	2. Cousin Draco

**My other** **_HP _****Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Dame Blanche_(Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP; _only _on AFF. net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact_(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Mortality_([AU] Dramione)

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_(Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory_ ([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry])

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Cousin Draco

"Miss Lestrange is here," Dobby said as he preceded the girl into the parlor of Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa looked up from her needlepoint. Her sleek, platinum hair hung pin-straight down her back, gleaming under the sunlight streaming through the gauzy-curtained windows, and her fair skin was the same flawless porcelain complexion as her sister's—a breathtaking contrast to the black velvet and lace of her Gothic Victorian dress. Always so poised and perfect. Hermione wondered if _she_ ever looked so regal by simply sitting up straight, the way Aunt Cissy did.

Dobby tugged at Hermione's dress, the gesture sweet and child-like.

Stooping, she brought her ear close to the elf's face.

"Happy birthday, Miss," he whispered.

Hermione smiled and straightened up. "Thank you, Dobby," she whispered back as he toddled from the room.

Narcissa furrowed her brow. "Hermione, you aren't supposed to be here until tomorrow. Honestly, it's your birthday, you should be home celebrating with your mother."

Immediately flustered, Hermione strode across the room, gathering the lacy length of the dress in her hands and taking a seat beside her aunt on the settee. "Yes, I _should_ be home. I should be home, celebrating _with_ my mother. And I would be, if she'd not invited someone else to celebrate with us without asking me if I minded, first."

Sighing, Narcissa set aside her work and draped a loose arm around the girl's shoulders. "Tom, again?"

Hermione bit her lip, her gaze shifting about the room. "I'm sorry. I know he's a friend of Uncle's, but it just feels like he's _everywhere._"

Narcissa tucked a fallen lock of hair behind her niece's ear. "Have you thought perhaps it's only how much you miss your father that makes you feel that way?"

"Of course I have." Uttering a sigh of her own, Hermione leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. "But . . . I'm not wrong for it, am I? Father's been gone barely a year. Isn't that _not_ enough time?"

The pale-haired witch reached out, gently squeezing Hermione's hand. "Look at it without applying time. He makes your mother happy, and that's all that should matter to you."

Hermione frowned. Aunt Cissy was another person to whom she really couldn't explain her dislike of Tom Riddle. Not in any way that wouldn't have the older witch assuming it had to do with missing her father—as she just had. And perhaps it did have to do with father, a little, but Hermione knew that didn't completely invalidate all the negative things she felt in Tom's presence.

And she certainly couldn't explain it to Uncle Lucius. He wouldn't hear a word spoken against any of his Ministry friends.

But Aunt Cissy had a point.

"You're right," Hermione admitted grudgingly, "he makes Mother happy, and that should be enough. I should put aside how I feel. But I shouldn't have to do so on my _birthday_."

Narcissa's gaze flickered about as she thought on that. "All right," she said, nodding, "not on your birthday."

"Hermione!"

Draco's voice drew the women's attention. They both looked up to find him peering in from the parlor's entryway. Scowling, he narrowed his eyes at the girl as he stepped inside.

He'd changed so much since he'd been that sour-faced boy awaiting her on the steps of The Lestrange Estate. Well, he _still_ made sour faces, but he'd gone from awkwardly thin and having only a hair's breadth over her in height, to leanly muscled and tall—his build delightfully accentuated by the cut of his fine, proper black suit—and quite handsome enough to get away with making any unpleasant expression he wished.

"You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow."

Hermione shrugged, giving a sheepish grin. "Surprise?"

He looked as though he didn't know what expression to make. "Dammit, all. Stay _right_ there." Turning on a heel, he stormed out of the room. "Dobby!"

Eyebrows drawing together, Hermione watched as the house elf popped past the entryway after Draco.

She turned to look at her aunt, who suddenly found the pattern of the curtains fascinating. Chestnut eyes narrowing, Hermione watched Narcissa's expression closely, though she couldn't help a half-smile.

"Aunt Cissy?"

Narcissa brought her gaze back to her niece's, her eyebrows lifted. "Hmm?"

"He planned something, didn't he?"

Shoulders swaying in a half-shrug, Narcissa gave a small nod. "Given how hard he's worked to keep what he's doing from me, I'd say yes. Most probably."

A mischievous grin curving her lips, Hermione rose from the settee. Yet as she stepped away, Narcissa slid a hand around the girl's wrist. Hermione turned back, meeting her aunt's gaze.

"Didn't he ask you to stay right here?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "And I often do as Draco tells me?"

Smirking, Narcissa allowed the girl's arm to slip from her grasp. "Let the record show, I tried to stop you," she said in an airy tone as she went back to her needlepoint.

Hermione smiled brightly at her aunt. "The record shall so reflect." After a quick curtsy, the young witch spun on her heel and headed through the Manor.

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><p>She crept across the garden, finding him in their favorite place. Against an exterior wall of the Manor, and behind a veritable maze of vine-and-blood-rose-woven trellises, this spot was hidden from the view of anyone inside the house, <em>and<em> anyone who might pass on the road outside.

Usually, they just laid down a blanket and brought out a simple plate of things to snack on and some books. It had become a favorite pastime of theirs for him to listen to her read as he pillowed his head on her lap—along with a few other things they could only do away from prying eyes—but now . . . .

Hermione bit her lip to hold in a smile as she walked over, spying fruits and cheeses on silver platters and goblets filled with rich, dark liquid. The best part was the rectangular package, exquisitely wrapped in beautiful, shiny periwinkle paper.

Dobby tugged at Draco's elbow.

"What?" The young man snapped.

Thin lips folding inward, the skittish, but nearly always pleasant little creature waved at Hermione.

Noticing the gesture, Draco turned. Seeing Hermione standing there, he groaned. His shoulders slumped and his head fell back as he dropped to sit cross-legged on the blanket.

"She didn't even try to stop you, did she?"

Hermione nodded. "Actually she did. Thank you Dobby, it all looks lovely."

"Oh, sure, he gets all the thanks. Well, off with you, then."

Secretly beaming at the witch's praise, Dobby nodded to them both and toddled away, back toward the Manor.

Closing the distance, she lifted the length of her dress just a little and sat in front of Draco. "I was going to thank you, too, you know."

"Oh?" His dark eyebrows shot up into the long fringe of his silvery-blonde bangs. "Well, then?"

Hermione rose and leaned into him, brushing her lips over his. She giggled at the sound of disappointment he made when she dropped back to sit, once more.

"That's _it_?"

"For the moment," she said, playfully arching a brow. "Now, tell me what all this fuss is about."

"Only turn eighteen once, you know." He grabbed the package and placed it upon her lap. "Go on."

Biting her lip, she examined the periwinkle paper. He knew how she hated to tear gift-wrap, and he leaned back on an elbow, lifting one of the goblets to his lips. Draco took several long sips as he watched her struggle to find a seam.

After a drawn-out moment she looked up, unsurprised to find an impish grin gracing his lips. "You're a terrible person, you know that?"

Chuckling, he offered a half-shrug. "Could always use your wand on it."

"You know I don't like using magic for mundane tasks."

He sighed, setting aside the goblet and rising up on his knees. "Such a brat, you are," he said as he crawled across the blanket to settle behind her.

Slipping his own wand from inside his suit jacket, he circled her with his arms. He slid the instrument into her hand, and then curled his fingers around hers.

Hermione blushed furiously even as she smiled, the symbolism _far_ from lost on her.

Guiding her hand, he tapped the wand against the box. The gift-wrap neatly unsealed itself along the seams, leaving not a single tear in the beautiful pastel paper.

Draco chuckled as she delicately wedged the paper out from beneath the box and set it aside. "Why _are_ you so neurotic about gift-wrap?"

"Because I keep it."

He leaned his face over her shoulder, looking into her eyes. "What? Every time someone gives you a present, you keep the wrapping?"

She turned her head to meet his gaze fully. "No, only yours."

Hermione nearly laughed at the look that came over his face. She was being sincere, she simply didn't expect that her reply would render him speechless.

"Does that surprise you?"

"A little, yes," he said with a nod, "but it's a good surprise. Anyway, go on, open it."

Smiling, she removed the top of the box and let it drop aside. She bit into her bottom lip as she lifted the thick, weathered tome that had been inside.

"_A History of Hexes: Fairy Tales of the Ancient Wizarding World_." She hugged the book to her breast as she turned her head to look at him once more. "I've been looking for this for ages!"

He shrugged. "I might have gone through some of Father's Ministry contacts to find the last known copy."

She sniffled, but forced her eyes to remain dry. "Thank you, Draco. This means _so_ much."

"Really? Do I get points for just this? Because there's more."

"More?" Her eyes were wide at the very thought.

Settling the book on her lap she frowned, looking about the blanket for another package she might've missed. She didn't see any other presents.

He pocketed his wand, and then slipped his arms around her waist. Ducking his head, he whispered so that his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. "Open the book, bright girl."

Hermione giggled, though she was sorely tempted to give him a smack. Opening the book as instructed, she found a bit of parchment tucked between the pages. She arched a brow, curious as she slid it free.

The document was a missive, on the letterhead of a resplendent new inn all of Wizarding Britain was raving about. Butterflies zipped through her stomach as she read over the confirmation details.

"Reservations? For tomorrow night?"

"Just for one night, and the following day. The plan _was_ to surprise you and whisk you away after your birthday dinner with my parents tomorrow evening, but you decided to show up on your _actual_ birthday, instead. Nearly botched the whole thing."

Though it would hardly be their first time, she understood this would be special. She didn't often use vulgar terms, but the plain truth of it was they'd been shagging for a year, already, and exploring each other as much as they could for nearly three. They'd learned quickly to take advantage of her long dresses, stilling if they heard anyone enter the garden, so it only looked as though she'd gotten carried away and climbed into his lap during a _mostly _innocent bit of snogging.

"That eager to have me all to yourself, are you?"

Holding her gaze for a long, quiet moment, he took the book and the missive from her hands and set them aside. He settled one hand on her hip and—staring into her eyes, still—slid the other carefully beneath the hem of her dress. "Yes."

A trembling breath escaped her at the feel of his fingertips tracing along her skin.

"Yes, I want you all to myself. I want to strip every bit of clothing from you and have you lay before me completely bare. I want that after we've . . . had our fill of each other, we can fall asleep together. Wake up together." He sank his teeth into his bottom lip and leaned just a bit closer, his mouth hovering over hers, his breath on her skin. "I can kiss every centimeter of you; you can make all those noises you keep holding back."

His fingers were dragging up her skin slowly, and it was all she could do not to reach down and clamp her hand over his. She wanted to urge him higher, but didn't dare, because then he'd stop. He was such a dreadful tease that way.

As he reached her inner thigh, he tipped his head, brushing his lips and the very tip of his tongue against the side of her throat.

"I will be able to taste every bit of you," he whispered, his fingers slipping into her knickers.

"Every bit?" She echoed, her eyes drifting closed as she felt his fingertips sliding against her.

She shivered under his touch and he grinned wickedly. Watching her face, he brought up his free hand, dipping a finger between her lips.

His breath came up short at the way she so eagerly lapped and sucked at his skin. "And you could taste every bit of me, too," he said, still in that gravely whisper, "if you want."

Letting his finger slip from her mouth, she turned her head to meet his gaze.

He loved seeing her look like this—her cheeks flushed, her brown eyes drowsy and hazed, her lips parted as her breath escaped in short spurts. And she was swaying against him, moving her hips to rub herself beneath his working fingertips.

Rising up on his knees, Draco slid his free arm around her waist. He pulled her up with him, assisting her to lean back so her body had the space to go taut.

Biting her lip to keep from crying out she reached up, gripping her fingers into the shoulders of his jacket. Her head fell back against his chest as she strained, pushing herself against his stroking hand.

The little keening noise that escaped her as she came was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He was the only one who would ever get to hear her make such noises—the only one_ she_ wanted to hear her—and he loved that knowledge.

Hermione sagged in his arms as the orgasm ebbed, rocking her hips until she felt the last delicious, rippling shock wash out of her.

As she caught her breath, he helped her to settle back into a sitting position on the blanket. With dazed eyes, she watched as he slipped his hand from beneath her dress and brought his finger to his lips.

The blush flaring in her cheeks as he licked his skin clean was priceless. "I _said_ every bit of you."

She still looked shocked even as he lay on his side and propped up on an elbow, reaching for one of the goblets. He nodded toward the other cup.

"What about you?" She asked as she took her own goblet and sipped—she'd never tell him, but she always fretted that he would become bored with her.

"Me? No, no. Today's your birthday. And _that_ was just a reminder for tomorrow night," he said, winking as that wicked Malfoy smirk curved his lips.

Frowning, she snatched a grape from one of the plates and pushed it into that smarmy mouth of his. "You really think I _needed _a reminder?"

He chewed the bit of fruit and swallowed, taking a sip of wine before speaking. "Needed? No. I just felt like giving you one."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. But then she remembered why she was here today, after all. Well, Draco had managed to banish all her miserable thoughts from earlier.

"Listen, will you come to dinner at the Estate tonight?"

Furrowing his brow, he sat up, returning the favor from a moment ago by feeding her a piece of cheese. "I thought your birthday dinner would be just you and Aunt Bella."

She swallowed the crumbly morsel and cleared her throat for good measure. "So did I. _Please_ say yes, Draco? I don't want to be there with her and Tom all by myself."

Tipping his head to one side, he traced the corners of her mouth with his finger. "Okay. There's something I've been meaning to ask Aunt Bella, anyway," he said, an oddly serious look tinging his expression.

A stern voice cut into their peaceful little world. "There you two are."

Hermione and Draco looked up, finding Lucius Malfoy standing at the opening between the trellises.

She found it funny that he acted like he'd combed the entirety of the Manor grounds for them when they were _always_ in the same place. But she wasn't about to laugh at Uncle Lucius. She could swear he'd been wearing that same scowl for the last ten years.

She thought it probably a good thing the Malfoy men were such a handsome bunch, what with their propensity for making sour faces.

"Afternoon, Uncle Lucius," she said, smiling.

The corners of his mouth lifted—it was the closest thing to a smile that ever graced the man's lips—and he nodded. "Hermione, happy birthday. You two, inside for tea _now_. Narcissa is most insistent."

Hermione gathered up her book—along with that wonderful missive and the periwinkle paper—and followed Draco and Lucius through the garden.

"Honestly, what you two enjoy about this place so much that you must _always_ be out here is beyond me," Lucius said, shaking his head.

She sank her teeth hard into her bottom lip to keep from giggling at the suggestive look Draco gave her behind his father's back.


	3. Best Friend Harry

**My other **_**HP**_** Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered _(Dramione [**one-shot**, lemon])

_Dame Blanche_ (Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact _(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism _(Draco-Hermione-Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Mortality_ ([AU] Dramione])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood _([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

**NEW! **_The Meekdragon Legacy_ (Dramione [possible Harmione])

_Tourniquet _(Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory _([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Best Friend Harry

Hermione felt as though she just barely made it through her birthday dinner. But that she did at all was thanks to Draco. He always seemed to know when she was feeling anxious—whether she might've run from the room, or jinxed Tom while muttering terrible, defaming things was anyone's guess—and he would gently take her hand in his beneath the table.

Such a simple gesture, but incredibly soothing to her in the moments she needed it most.

When she felt herself calmed enough, she would give a subtle nod, and then his hand would slip away.

As Perly—the self-appointed head of the house elf kitchen staff—brought out their dessert dishes, Tom carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin and replaced it in his lap. Hermione always found it such an odd habit whenever she had the displeasure of dining with him that he wiped his mouth after he ate _and_ before. Who did that? Honestly!

"So," the man said brightly, apparently oblivious to Hermione's irritated train of thought as his gaze flicked from Draco to her, and back, "do you two have any special plans to celebrate this very important birthday?"

Draco held up one hand—just as Hermione was about to politely point out to Tom that such was none of his concern—and with the other pushed his chair back to stand. "I need to speak with Aunt Bella privately a moment."

Bellatrix looked up from a moment of rapt fascination with Tom's handsome, flawlessly-complexioned face. "Hmm? Whatever about, Draco dear?"

Refraining from snapping his gaze toward Tom, Draco said in a delicate tone, "_Private,_ Aunt Bella."

Hermione realized as Mother moved to stand that they were about to leave her alone at the table with Tom. Too late she glanced around to see Draco escorting the dark-haired witch from the dining room by her elbow.

Clearing her throat as quietly as she could, Hermione picked up her spoon and focused on the dish of butterscotch custard before her.

"So, Hermione, how _is_ your birthday treating you?"

Her eyebrows shot up, angered that he couldn't take the hint that she didn't want to talk. "It's fine, really. No—no different than any other, I suppose."

Tom nodded, watching her expression as she ate. She only took the tiniest bit of custard on her spoon each time. It was the human equivalent of watching a hummingbird in front of an overly large blossom.

"Did you enjoy your tea with Narcissa and Lucius?"

"Yes," she said simply between bites.

He propped his elbows on either side of his own, untouched dessert and interlocked his fingers, resting his chin on his hands as he continued to stare at her. "I should really pop by and visit with them some time, soon. Do you know what my favorite part of the Manor grounds is?"

Hermione thought she could feel his gaze on her. In fact, she was certain of it. Like a weight on her skin. _Why does he enjoy making me uncomfortable?_

"No." She didn't _care_ what part he liked of the Manor grounds, either, but she didn't dare say such a thing—what if Mother overheard her sassing Tom?

"The garden."

She stilled, biting the inside of her lip.

"There's this area right by the trellises. I trust you've seen them? The ones woven with blood-roses?"

Hermione silently set aside her spoon, her stomach revolting suddenly as she forced a gulp down her throat. This _had_ to be a bizarre coincidence.

"If you're in just the right spot, it is very much like you're in your own little world. I imagine it would be such a perfect place to simply sit and read a good book."

A spot of cold formed in the pit of her stomach. Unable to help herself any longer, she slowly titled her head up, dragging her gaze to meet his.

She was totally unsurprised to find his eyes _had_ been fixed on her face the entire time.

He continued to simply stare at her, his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly and his expression disturbingly serene.

An eruption of joyous laughter from Bellatrix gave Hermione a start, and—just before she tore her gaze from Tom's to look toward the entryway—she could_ swear _he smirked at her nervousness. And she was overcome with the strangest certainty that he'd _wanted_ her to see his expression.

Mother and Draco stepped back into the room, and Mother's expression was bright and happy. For the moment, seeing her look like that made Hermione forget her unease.

"What's this all about?" she asked, forcing a light note into her voice.

"Hmm?" Mother was smiling, but didn't meet Hermione's eyes as she returned to her seat.

Hermione opened her mouth to question her mother again, but was stopped by Draco's hand reaching toward her in her periphery. She turned her head, looking up to meet his gaze as he continued to hold out his hand.

"Would you come for a walk with me?"

Something in his voice, something about the way he was looking at her, caused her breath to catch in her throat. Nodding, she slipped her hand into his and let him pull her from her seat and lead her from the room.

"Okay, so why did my mother make that sound that startled the daylights out of me?" Hermione asked once they were outside, wandering aimlessly across the grass within the confines of the Estate's gated grounds.

Sucking his teeth, Draco reached out, taking her hand in his. He raised her arm, seemingly examining the way their fingers intertwined. "I was asking Aunt Bella something very important."

"Yes, that I gathered."

"Did you know that Witches and Wizards are never virgins on their wedding nights?"

Hermione burst out in surprised laughter. Pulling him to halt, she turned and looked up at him. "What? Well, I'd say that's a good thing, considering that ship sailed for us some time ago."

He chuckled, grinning sheepishly. "There's a reason. Because compatibility in all aspects is such an important thing, when a wizard is intending to ask a witch to marry him, the tradition is that they spend a night away, all to themselves. This way, if they don't have the spark they think they do, they can choose to end their courtship and pursue other romantic endeavors."

Chestnut eyes narrowing a bit, she tried to understand how that related to them. "Draco, you're not making sense. We already _know _we're compatible in that fashion, so why—" Hermione cut herself off, replaying his entire statement in her head.

He bit into his bottom lip as he held her gaze.

Her eyebrows rose and she took a step closer to him. "Are you saying you intend to ask me to marry you?"

Once more he lowered his gaze to their intertwined fingers. "I told Aunt Bella about our plans for tomorrow night. She realized what my intention was, and so I asked for her blessing."

Hermione blinked hard, feeling tears gather in her eyes and the tip of her nose sting. "Oh, sweet Merlin." She moved before she knew it, closing the meager distance between them and slipping her arms around his neck to hug him tight.

"So . . . should I take it that's a yes?" he asked, smirking as he clasped his hands behind the small of her back.

Laughing, she tipped her head, brushing her lips along his jaw again and again. "Yes, yes, of course it is, stupid!"

He nudged her face back, just enough to meet her gaze. "You understand I won't be _actually_ asking you until tomorrow night?"

"Then why did you say all this _now_?"

Draco feigned a wounded expression as he lifted an arm from her to press his hand against his chest. "I wanted to be certain you weren't going to say no and break my fragile heart."

She laughed again, shaking her head and pulling him close for a kiss.

"I swear—"

They started at the voice behind them, stopping just short of crashing their teeth together.

"You two aren't going to be happy 'til one of you has sucked the lips right off the other one's face."

Hermione turned in Draco's arms, laughing once more as she faced their cousin, Harry. Though adopted like Hermione, Harry Potter was a pure-blood, taken in by Bellatrix and Narcissa's cousin, Sirius Black, after the death of his birth parents.

Harry's green eyes glimmered behind his glasses as he smiled at them.

"You really have the worst timing, ever," Draco said, his tone sour.

"You don't have sole rights to her on her birthday, you know." Harry's cheerful expression faded a bit. "You aren't supposed to have her 'til tomorrow, anyway."

"Why you little . . . ." Draco let his voice trail off when he heard Hermione giggling softly.

"What?" the wizards asked in unison.

"You two _always_ do this. Argue over everything, no matter what it is, but the first term you use to describe each other to anyone else is 'best friend.' It just amuses me, every time."

Harry gave a small smile in spite of himself, while Draco rolled his eyes.

"And anyway," she went on as Draco tightened his arms around her waist from behind, "we were having a moment."

"You two are _always _having a moment. Anyway, I just came to give you your birthday present, since I understand you two have plans tomorrow night."

Hermione stiffened in Draco's embrace, turning her head to look up at his face. He wouldn't meet her eyes, suddenly finding the distant landscape absolutely captivating.

She scowled. "You told Harry?"

Draco gave in, meeting her unhappy gaze. "Best friend, remember? You _just_ said it yourself."

The witch couldn't help a half-grin. "All right, fine."

"Besides," Harry said, shrugging, "he really only wanted to know what I thought you'd say."

"Harry, you know me too well."

Cracking a grin, the dark-haired wizard shrugged once more. "Actually, I told him if you were _really_ the brightest witch of our age, you'd run for the hills."

Draco shook his head, chuckling.

With an exasperated eye roll—her boys _were_ always like this—she refused to let their antics sidetrack her. "You said you wanted to give me a present?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." He pulled a smooth gold envelope from his back pocket and held it out to her. "Here."

Draco slouched, resting his cheek on her shoulder as she accepted it.

Hermione was incredibly delicate in breaking the beautiful blue wax seal that held the envelope closed. Biting her lip, she extracted a thin, waxy white card emblazoned with gorgeous, bronze-colored calligraphy lettering.

She broke into a smile. "I'm going to The Companion Emporium? You got me a familiar?"

"Technically, I only made you the appointment. _Getting_ the familiar is all on you, but it's all paid for. You can drop in when you two return from the inn."

"Oh, thank you, Harry!" Without thought, she lurched forward, throwing her arms around his neck to hug him.

Draco, still holding her from behind, winced. Meeting Harry's gaze over her shoulder, he muttered, "Not awkward at all."

Hermione pulled away from Harry, giggling. "Sorry."

"Should get you back inside now, anyway. It's beyond late."

As Draco turned her back toward the house, she found herself reluctant to walk. Rather abruptly, she recalled that horrible moment with Tom.

"I suppose I could pop in and say a quick hullo," Harry said, trailing after them.

Draco groaned. "Don't you have anyone else to pester?"

Shaking his head, Harry stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. "Not really, no."

Hermione made a show of smiling as the two went on with their usual bickering. She wasn't certain whether or not to tell them about Tom's strange comments. Wasn't even truly certain what to make of them.

As they drew near to the entrance of the house, she received an unpleasant jolt to find Tom waiting just inside the open doors. He turned to look at them before they were actually close enough for him to hear their approach, Hermione was certain of it.

Perhaps it was just unfortunate timing that made it seem as though he simply _knew_ they were there.

Smiling at them, he came out to greet them. "I was about to depart. Your mother insisted I at least stay to bid you good night."

He smiled at Harry, and she could swear Tom looked him over with the same strange glimmer in his eyes as when he focused his attention on Draco. She didn't understand what that glimmer meant, but she didn't like it.

Directing his gaze to the girl standing between the two wizards, Tom stepped up to them. "Hermione, once more happy birthday." Just as he had earlier that day, he clamped his hands on her shoulders and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "And the dress really does suit you well."

After a brief nod to each of the young men in turn, he Apparated, vanishing from sight.

She shuddered, drawing Harry and Draco's attention.

Harry's brows drew together as he flicked his gaze over Hermione's attire. "What about your dress?"

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she shook her head. Grasping each of their hands, she started into the house. "It was a birthday gift from him."

Draco and Harry exchanged a confused look. "Aunt Bella let him buy you a dress?" Draco asked, suddenly a bit disturbed to recall what he and Hermione had done in the garden while she was in that dress.

"Do you think . . . ." She lowered her voice, so her mother wouldn't overhear her words as she started again. "Do you think maybe he's cast a spell on her?"

Harry shook his head, but picked up on the lowered decibels, whispering, "She's too powerful a witch. It would be like someone trying to spell one of us. He'd have to be _very_ strong, and I don't get that from him."

"Could he be masking it?"

Once more, the young men shared a look. They both shook their heads, shrugging.

"He could be," Draco said.

"But there would be no way to really know for certain," Harry finished for him. "I'm only saying if there's a way he can mask his power, than clearly there'd be a way for him to mask that he's masking it. Does that make sense?"

Hermione said, "Yes."

At that very same moment Draco responded, "No."

She could only laugh as they broke into another argument over nothing at all.

Sighing, she said her goodbyes to them and ushered them back out the door. This had been the longest birthday she could rightly recall, and she still had to pack for tomorrow night—no doubt she should bring something special to wear. And maybe . . . .

As she yawned and started up the stairs to her room, she considered that maybe she should burn the damned pretty dress.


	4. Sirius Black

**My other** **_HP_** **Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered _(Dramione [**one-shot**, lemon])

_Dame Blanche_ (Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

**NEW! **_Displacement_ (Dramione/Scorose)

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Drarry [PwP; _**only **_**on AFF. net**])

**NEW! **_Eros_ ([DARK AU] Scorose)

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact _(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_(Draco-Hermione-Blaise [PwP; _**only **_**on AFF. net**])

_Mortality_ ([AU] Dramione])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor_ (Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood _([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

_Teach Me_ (Dramione/Scormione [18 yr. old Scorpius])

_The Meekdragon Legacy_ (Dramione [possible Harmione])

_Tourniquet _(Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

_Wizard Theory _([AU] Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

Sirius Black

Hermione bit her lip, holding in a spontaneous, excited giggle as her carriage drew close to the Manor. Certainly, she could have simply Apparated, but she wanted everything _perfect_, and that didn't mean appearing at the door in a puff of twisting, whirling smoke.

Draco stood at the foot of the massive marble steps, waiting for her. His fine black suit fit him well—as they always seemed to, though she could tell by the cut that this one was new—drawing attention to his broad shoulders and lean frame, perfectly contrasting his porcelain complexion and platinum hair.

She felt the sudden, mad zipping of butterflies buzzing about in her belly.

"Oh, Merlin's Beard, why am I so nervous?" she asked herself in a whisper, laughing softly. It was a _good_ nervousness—the sort one normally felt when realizing themselves infatuated with someone for the first time. But she had been in love with Draco for as long as she'd understood what love felt like.

But tonight marked something new for them, didn't it? She was going to become his _fiancé_.

Clearing her throat, she shook her head, sweeping away her anxious thoughts. Yet as the carriage pulled to a stop, she noticed the way he chewed his bottom lip, and the spots of pink dotting his fair cheeks; the crease in his brow and how he twisted his clasped hands behind his back.

_Oh, thank _God_! He's a nervous wreck about this, too! _A wash of relief passed through her instantly.

He walked forward, opening the door for her, and held out a hand.

* * *

><p>Draco's breath caught in his throat as she slid her delicate fingers into his and let him assist her to step from the carriage. Though he preferred when her hair was wild and loose, there was a certain charm to how she'd straightened it for the occasion, so that the mass of golden-brown hung sleek and gleaming down her back. Her slender shoulders were wrapped in a black floral-lace shawl, dusted lightly with sparkles of blue and silver. A gown of black crushed-velvet hugged her curves; its deep-crimson trim accentuated the way it flared out from right below her hips, and dipped just a little low at her breast to give the tiniest, most ladylike hint of cleavage.<p>

She was absolutely stunning. _And _she was his bride-to-be.

Forcing a gulp, Draco shook his head, blinking hard a few times.

He was being ridiculous. They'd always known this would happen, hadn't they? Aunt Bella and Mother had been forcing them together since they were children, after all. Always dropping sly little hints, that were neither little, nor very sly.

Hermione Lestrange was his, just as he was hers.

Suddenly she bounced up on the tips of her toes, brushing her lips over his. Pulling back, she simply locked those huge chestnut eyes on his and offered a tiny slip of a grin.

A half-smile tugged up one corner of Draco's mouth. "What was that for?"

She shrugged. "You looked like you needed it." Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, and letting it out slowly, she said as she fixed her gaze on the double-doors standing open, "I know I did."

Smiling fully now, he guided her hand to the crook of his bent elbow. "C'mon then." Feeling calmer, he lowered his head to speak in her ear as he guided her up the steps. "Look at it this way, the sooner we get through dinner, the sooner we can be on our way."

"So you told your parents, then? About . . . your intended proposal that you technically _didn't_ offer last night."

Draco stopped short, his jaw dropping.

She felt her heart leap into her throat. "You didn't tell them?"

Meeting her gaze, he held his mortified expression for a moment longer. And then cracked a wicked grin, winking at her.

"Oh!" She slapped his shoulder. "Don't do that!"

"Of course I told them."

Her eyebrows drew together, suddenly desperate to know what she might be walking into. "And?"

"Mother is thrilled, and—"

"And your father?" She bit her lip, her eyes huge.

"Father was happy about it, too."

"How could you tell?"

Draco chuckled as they started walking again. "He made that expression where he almost smiles."

"Oh." Hermione said, relaxing instantly. "All right, then." She'd always felt so certain that Uncle Lucius would prefer Draco matched with a pure-blood witch, but that he was okay with their pending engagement settled an anxiety she'd not realized she felt until she'd asked about his reaction.

"By the way . . . ."

She bit her bottom lip hard. At this rate, he was going to giver her a heart attack.

"Harry and Sirius invited themselves to dinner. They're already at the table."

Her shoulders slumped and she gave him another smack as she scowled. "Why are you tormenting me?"

He shrugged as they stepped into the foyer. "We're both a bit nervous about tonight. I thought it might be wise to defuse the tension a little."

Sighing, she shook her head, hiding a smile as he led her across the Manor and into the dining room.

* * *

><p>By the time the house elves were clearing the dishes away to bring in coffees and dessert, Sirius had everyone laughing so hard that Hermione kept having to wipe the corners of her eyes with her napkin, Harry had fallen out of his chair twice, Aunt Cissy was shielding her mouth with her hands to cover a boisterous laugh that almost sounded like her sister's, and Draco's face was beet-red as he tried to catch his breath. Even Uncle Lucius was smiling. Well,<em> almost<em>, but it was the closest he'd ever come to one.

"And so after about ten minutes of watching him struggle, I finally said 'Remus, the door's marked _push_.'" There was a new explosion of laughter around the table, and Sirius raised his goblet, winking at everyone. "He still hasn't forgiven me for not pointing out that sign, oh say, nine and a half minutes sooner."

Hermione liked Sirius, he was always ready with a funny story, or a shoulder to lean on. It was Sirius, with his kind, glittering blue-grey eyes who wiped her tears at thirteen years old, when she'd first realized she liked Draco. She cried because she hadn't _wanted_ to like him, she'd never admit it aloud now, but she'd wanted to like Harry. Harry was sweet and patient, if often a little more snarky and sarcastic than an occasion called for, while Draco was coarse, had a temper that flared faster than a goblin's, and always tried to blame Hermione whenever the three of them got in trouble for anything.

She hadn't wanted to like a boy who was such a pain in her arse, but every time she tried to talk herself out of it, it simply didn't work. Draco, she feared, loathed her far too much to ever like her back, and she_ especially_ hadn't wanted to like someone who'd never feel the same way. Sirius had tutted, and tsked, and told her a plain truth of the world that made everything seem a little better.

_"Boys are stupid," he said with a fond smirk, as though remembering a few _stupid_ gems from his own childhood._

Girls, he'd explained, stopped being stupid far earlier in life than boys, and so became aware of their feelings more quickly. If she gave Draco time—and pretended she _didn't_ like him in the meanwhile—he'd come around.

And Sirius was correct, of course, as only a few months later Draco surprised Hermione with their first kiss. Things had been _Draco and Hermione_, ever since.

Sometimes, this understanding side of him made Hermione forget what Uncle Lucius had said—on more than one occasion—about how Sirius was quite the prankster as a boy. Out of dread that he might not have actually given up the habit, Hermione always checked before taking her seat whenever she dined with Harry and his step-father.

Puffing out his cheeks and forcing a breath, Draco checked his pocket watch. "Oh, okay. Um, I'm sorry everyone, but if we're going to keep our reservations Hermione and I need to be going."

Narcissa's shoulders slumped and she gave the most impressive pout for a witch in her late thirties that Hermione'd ever seen. "What, already?"

Draco nodded, wincing as he pushed back his chair and stood. "Blame your cousin. It's his witty stories that make us all forget the time."

Sirius stood as well, taking a half-bow in acknowledgment of his talent.

Hermione made her rounds of the table, bidding farewells and dropping kisses on cheeks. Harry smiled, surely a lurid joke about the happy couple's plans for the night waiting on his lips, but she shushed him the moment she saw his expression. "Harry James Potter, don't you dare."

Harry feigned an appearance of wounded shock. "Wasn't going to say a word!"

Sirius was still standing by the time Hermione reached him. He always looked like some mad poet laureate, with his messy dark curls and long, over-sized black coats covering matched clothes, the material so sleek it gleamed when he turned _just_ so.

Reaching out, he took one of Hermione's hands between both of his. "I have something for you."

Slipping one hand away, Sirius retrieved a small, rectangular box from the depths of his enormous coat. "I already asked Harry, and he told me this was alright with him." He pressed the box into Hermione's palm. "This belonged to Harry's mum, Lily. I had a friendship with her and James that is quite reminiscent of the friendship Harry has with you and Draco. _You_ remind me very much of her, and I believe she'd have quite liked you. I think she'd have wanted you to have it."

Wide-eyed, she glanced to Harry. He only nodded as he looked on.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she turned her attention to the box. As she pulled the top free, she found a painstakingly crafted silver lily. Smiling, she carefully lifted the brooch free of the small satin pillow upon which it rested.

"It's gorgeous!" She wasted no time fastening it to her shawl.

Hermione spared the time to hug Sirius so hard she might as well have been trying to squeeze the air from him, even as Draco stood by, impatiently tapping his foot. She hugged Harry a second time, ignoring the face he was probably making at Draco over her shoulder.

As she pulled back, Harry met her happy gaze with hard look. "You lose my mother's brooch and I swear I will break your wand."

Scowling, she clamped a hand over the silver lily as she said in a lethal tone, "I'd sooner die than let something happen to it."

Harry nodded, smiling. "Good. Just wanted to be clear."

Sticking out his arm for Hermione to place her hand in the crook of his elbow, Draco glanced back, arching a brow at Harry. "And if she dies protecting a brooch, I'll kill you."

"Oh, will you two run along, already?" Lucius finally piped up, once more making that almost-a-grin expression. "Swear these boys never change."

Immediately the conversation turned, shutting out Draco and Hermione. They both recognized this as the family's attempt to shoo them from the Manor and on their way.

"Honestly, Lucius, they're not _boys_ anymore, they're young men," Narcissa said, her lilting voice holding the faintest note of admonishment.

Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance as they stepped into the corridor. They recognized _that_ tone.

"Harry, dear." She cleared her throat, and audibly shifted in her seat. "When I was visiting Lucius at the Ministry the other day, I met the loveliest young witch. About your age, sweet little thing. I think you'd quite like—"

Harry cut off Aunt Cissy's words with a groan as he hung his head. Of course, Draco and Hermione were too far down the hall to see now, but they both knew his reactions well enough to guess _precisely_ how that had gone.

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><p>Hermione kept her gaze on the passing landscape as the carriage brought them from the Manor grounds to the city. Each time she stole a glance at Draco, he, too, was looking everywhere but at her. All right, so perhaps they <em>were<em> both still nervous.

As they reached the city's gilded gates, she felt his hand come to rest atop hers. Biting her lip, she looked down, eagerly intertwining her fingers with his.

"It's a bit silly, isn't it?" she asked, her voice shaking a little. "That we're both so skittish right now?"

"Don't know why _you're_ nervous, you've got me wrapped 'round your little finger. _Me_, on the other hand . . . ."

She finally turned her head to look at him, her expression uncertain. "What'd you mean?"

He shrugged, pursing his lips as he met her gaze. "I keep thinking one day you're going to come to your senses and decide you're too good for me."

"Well," she said, giving a sideways nod, "I _am_ too good for you. Doesn't change the fact that I'm stupidly, blindly,_ helplessly_ in love with you. You egotistical prat."

The carriage rolled to a stop, but neither of them were paying mind to the world outside anymore.

"Prove it."

Hermione furrowed her brow at the odd request. "Prove that I love you? How, exactly?"

Suddenly Draco was digging inside his jacket with his free hand. "I should really wait 'til we're up in the room, but . . . ." He produced a square velvet box.

She felt her heart thump wildly in her chest at the sight. The driver knocked on the window just then, but she barely heard him.

"Give us a moment," Draco said sternly, but his eyes stayed on Hermione's face while she stared at the box, awestruck.

Turning his other hand in hers to hold the box carefully, he gently pried it open. "Hermione Lestrange, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

For a moment she wasn't sure she could breathe. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and the tip of her nose stung as she gazed at the white-gold band, fitted with a diamond the most perfect shade of vibrant crimson. She'd known he was going to ask, but it hadn't been _real_ before now.

When she remained silent, Draco felt a prickle of dread in the pit of his stomach. "Hermione, please. I can't wait,_ please_ answer me. Will you be mine forever?"

Realizing she was probably causing him internal fits, she forced a sniffle and laughed, blinking her eyes clear. "Yes, stupid, yes, of course!"

"Oh, sure," he said, chuckling to cover his moment of doubt as he relinquished her hand to pull the ring free. "All this fuss, and she calls _me_ stupid."

Grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, she pulled him close, stealing the breath from him as she kissed him. Her anxiety forgotten, she pulled away enough to meet his gaze.

Feigning a shy look, she whispered, "Now put that bloody ring on my finger, so we can get to our room."

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><p><span><strong>My Regular Readers<strong>**: As my original fic list will soon start its update cycle (finally), but hectic home life makes an actual, **_**set**_** schedule nigh impossible, I'm considering taking one readers suggestion and starting a mailing list to keep those interested more actively informed of what is updating next, or any delays to updating the fics overall (i.e.: rl crisis striking). If you'd like to be added to the mailing list, you can PM me your email address, or mention in your review that you'd like to be included, and I'll PM you to request it from you :)**

**Regardless, I will list the order in which the fics will be updated on my profile page, and note the most recent date under each fic, so one can just reference that to see which is updating next.**

**New Readers****: "Did she**_** really**_** just say she's putting together a mailing list?" Yes, I did. I swear to you, I'm not full of myself or my stories like that, it's just that I have an ungodly amount of fics all running at once (seriously, there's like 13 of them). I just thought this one reader who reached out to me had a point; I have so many fics, and without a set schedule, it would be easier for those who enjoy my stories to know what to expect, and when, rather than having to hunt down my profile page and sift through dates & titles :/.**

****Everyone: I have started a secondary writing profile, Krystal-Freya. It's a joint account with my FF critique partner, krystalMage. Solely collaborative works will be posted there (such as our upcoming Scorlily/RosexMalfoyOC fic _The Lost Heir_) my individual works will remain with me, as krystal's works will remain with her.****


	5. A Strange Remembrance

**So, 9 nights have passed, and 9 updates have taken place. Let's hope I can keep this up ;) Happy Holidays, to all those celebrating, whatever your belief.**

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><p><span><strong>Next to Update<strong>**: ****_The Meekdragon Legacy_**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

A Strange Remembrance

_She hid behind the French doors, blowing her nose into a silken handkerchief in a most unladylike fashion. Though she knew she should be out there in the parlor with Mother, Hermione couldn't bring herself to show her face just now. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was bright red—she couldn't begin to imagine what a dreadful sight she must make._

_Funeral receptions . . . what ghastly affairs._

_Under the din of conversation and soft, murmuring weeping from the other room, she could make out footfalls approaching her. She shrank back against the wall, reflexively covering her mess of a face behind black lace-gloved hands._

_"There you are," Draco said, the whisper soft and gentle._

_Swallowing hard she lowered her hands just a bit, peeking at him from over the tips of her fingers. "I can't do it," she mumbled the words in a tear-broken voice. "I can't go out there."_

_Shoulders drooping, he slipped an arm around Hermione and pulled her against him. For a long moment, he simply let her cry, her face pressed tight to his chest._

_When it seemed she'd calmed enough to perhaps listen, he tried for reason. "I know this is difficult, but you're leaving Aunt Bella out there all alone."_

_She made a little, whimpering sound and stamped a heel._

_Biting his lip to keep from laughing at the childlike gesture, he slipped his hands around her shoulders and pulled her back just enough to look into her eyes. The poor thing—the skin around her eyes was puffy and the whites had gone a bit red, the tip of her nose was red, as well._

_Hermione Lestrange was mess, yet somehow she managed to be a beautiful mess._

_"I know! I _know _I'm being terrible, but . . . ." Her bottom lip trembled as she held his gaze. "I can't help it. I just miss him _so _much and he's only been gone a few days."_

_He nodded, removing a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiping beneath her eyes. "I understand it, honestly. You lost your father." Draco shrugged and tried his level-best to offer a sympathetic expression—though he wasn't fully certain the Malfoy line possessed the proper set of facial muscles to _make_ such an expression._

_Shaking his head, he said, "But _she_ lost her husband."_

_Hermione's entire frame drooped as his statement bounced around in her head. Of course he was right._

_"You don't think you're being a bit selfish, hiding out here like this?"_

_She nodded, forcing a small laugh. "_You _are calling _me_ selfish? You're the most selfish person either of us even knows."_

_Giving a nod of his own, he once more slipped an arm around her shoulders. This time he gently turned her and pulled her in against his side. "That would be my point. I'm the resident expert; I know what I'm talking about."_

_She let herself smile at that, dropping her head against his shoulder as he guided her though the house. "Oh, is Harry here?"_

_Grey eyes rolled. "Oh, sure. _I _come looking for you, but somehow it's all 'where's _Harry_?'"_

_She leaned up to brush her lips against his jaw. "Oh hush, you. You know I didn't mean it like that."_

_"Yes, he and Sirius arrived shortly after you vanished. Everyone's asking for you."_

_"Is Mother all right?" She was actually a little frightened of the answer. She _should_ have been out there with Mother the entire time, no matter how miserable she felt._

_Draco shrugged, replying just as they stepped into the parlor. "I think she's holding up well, under the circumstances, but she's probably holding it in until after everyone's gone."_

_Hermione held in an unhappy groan as she imagined the fits Mother was going to give her and the house elves later that night. The woman refused to cry, and so twittered about the house like a thing possessed to keep busy and distracted. Keeping up with her was maddening._

_She scanned the room to find Mother standing in the midst of a small crowd. Uncle Lucius and Aunt Cissy stood on either side of her, Harry and Sirius were there, as well. But there was an unfamiliar face, which made her stop short._

_Beside Uncle stood a rather dashing man, tall with dark brown eyes and tumbling curls of the same, rich hue. His gaze was fixed on Mother's face as he regaled the group with some story Hermione couldn't quite hear from where she stood._

_"Draco, who is that man?"_

_"One of Father and Uncle Rodolphus' friends from the Ministry."_

_Suddenly Bellatrix looked up. A smile curving her raspberry lips, she held out a hand toward her daughter._

_"Come dear, there's someone we'd like to introduce you to."_

_Draco ushered her on, a half a step ahead of him as they walked toward their family. The stranger moved forward, meeting them halfway._

_"Miss Lestrange," he said, his voice deep and rich as he tipped his head in a small bow._

_Out of reflex, she curtsied. Before she realized it, she was standing again, having dropped her into his. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze as he politely brushed his lips across her lace-covered knuckles._

So gentlemanly_. Hermione looked toward Mother and Aunt Cissy. Both older witches looked impressed by his manners._

_She looked back to him as he released her hand and rose to his full, somewhat imposing height. "I am sorry we aren't meeting under better circumstances. Your father was a good man."_

_Brow furrowing, Hermione nodded, trying to hold in a fresh wash of tears at the mention. "Yes, he was. Thank you."_

_He made a vaguely surprised face. "My apologies, Miss Lestrange—"_

_"Oh, Hermione, please," she said, sometimes still uncomfortable with unnecessary formality._

_A grin tugged the corners of his mouth upward. "Hermione, then. My name is Tom Riddle."_

_She nodded, offering a small smile. "Tom, then, if I may call you such?"_

_His smile widened as he took a half-step backward and let his gaze sweep over her from head to toe._

_Suddenly Hermione felt oddly exposed in her black mourning dress. There was a strange sense stealing over her, like a cold breeze touched her shoulders, bared as they were by the stylishly bunched fabric. The neckline of the bodice felt far too low, as though it presented the room with eyefuls of rounded flesh, rather than the mere, delicate hint of cleavage it actually allowed._

_"So this is the child I've heard so much about for so many years," he said in a friendly tumble of words._

_"She's hardly a _child,_ anymore," Harry's voice broke in, all snark and sass—as always._

_Narcissa and Bellatrix gave mildly scandalized gasps as they laughed. Sirius and Draco chuckled, while Lucius made that little half-smile of his._

_"Harry, honestly," Hermione said in a low hiss._

_Tom smirked, causing his cheek to dimple. "Your father spoke so highly of you. It feels as though I've . . . simply been waiting _forever_ to meet you, dear."_

_Hermione once more smiled politely, though she wasn't certain what to make of the glimmer that came into the man's eyes._

_Later that evening, after the crowd had thinned, she pulled Draco aside. Darting her gaze about all the while as she spoke, she explained that curious look Tom had given her._

_"What do you think that meant?"_

_He held her gaze for a quiet moment. She was right, there was something in that look which hadn't sat right with him, either, but no one else seemed to notice. It made Draco wonder if he hadn't imagined it, or perhaps read too much into it on account of his relationship with Hermione. But that _she _had seen it, too . . . ._

_But she was going through so much already, he didn't want to trouble her._

_Smiling gently, he pulled her in for a kiss. "I'm pretty certain that look meant Draco Malfoy is one _lucky_ young man."_

_Hermione laughed softly and kissed him, again. She didn't really believe him, but she let his version of that moment comfort her for a few precious minutes._

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><p>The entire lobby was awash in warm, inviting colors. Shades of vibrant red and purple splashed the curtains and the thick, plush carpets covering floors tiled in sleek, gleaming grey. Gold and silver trimmed and accented at just the perfect points, making Hermione wonder if the decorating choices hadn't been made through some sort form Divination.<p>

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" She turned her head to meet Draco's questioning gaze.

Every now and then, she was forced to remind herself that he couldn't understand why she was so awed by such things, just as he never could appreciate why she was so sparing in her use of magic. Unlike her, he'd been part of the Wizarding world since before he was even born.

Though she barely acknowledged it, she _still _recalled growing up as a Muggle—still had moments of missing her Muggle parents so much that she felt like her heart was breaking. She still remembered what it was like to live a life without magic, without the comforts a simple twist of fate had afforded her.

As such, _simple_ shows of magic such as this continued to amaze her.

"Sorry," she said, beaming at him. "It's just . . . so beautiful here."

"C'mon, then." He patted his hand over hers and led her to the front desk as a servant scurried behind them with their overnight bags.

A bright-eyed elf popped up from behind the desk's counter—Hermione imagined it must be precariously perched atop a rather tall chair to be eye-level with Draco. "Do you have a reservation, sir?"

"Of course." Nodding, Draco offered the confirmation parchment.

The elf took the scroll and looked it over. Giving a nod of his own in response, he tapped a finger to the scroll and it flashed before forming into a key. Yet the creature caught it in his hand and held it, rather than turning it over.

He looked to the wide, leather-bound book open before him on the desk. Summoning a quill pen, the elf asked, "Mr. Draco Malfoy, and Miss . . . ?"

"Hermione Lestrange," Draco said, taking the moment to show off her ring. "And it's our engagement night, if you don't mind."

The elf smiled kindly and nodded again, the quill scratching as he made some notation in the book beside their names. "Understood, sir. We'll see to it your suite isn't disturbed until breakfast."

Hermione swallowed hard, a blush flaring in her cheeks at how frank they were about the matter. It had been enough to realize their entire family knew what they were up to tonight—her skin crawled a little at the knowledge that Mother had probably told Tom—but the idea that the entire staff of the Inn would be aware . . . .

Honestly, it was enough to cause a girl fits of anxiety.

"Shall we have champagne sent to the suite?"

"Um . . . ." Draco looked to Hermione, who nodded eagerly, hoping it might take the edge off her nervousness—a feeling which seemed to quite rudely come and go as it pleased.

The house elf caught her look and gave her a friendly smile. "It will be there by the time you open the door," he assured in a lilting voice.

As the creature held out the key, he made an expression which she took as him furrowing his brow. Draco took the key, unnoticing of the way the creature searched through the book with his free hand.

"Miss Lestrange?"

"Yes?" Hermione wondered what that curious tone was about.

"Have you stayed with us before?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up as he snapped his head around to meet his fiancé's gaze. She burst out in surprised laughter as she shook her head.

"No, _never_."

Again, the elf furrowed his brow as he once more scanned the parchment page before him. "Oh, sorry. My mistake. That's _Bellatrix_ Lestrange."

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. The Inn had only opened eight months ago, Father had been gone for just under a year. She didn't recall Mother going away, and if Father had already died . . . .

"My mother was here?" Before she could stop herself, words were tumbling from between her lips. "When did she stay? Was she with someone, or alone?"

The elf looked up, his gaze sympathetic as he pointedly closed the book. "I am sorry, Miss Lestrange, but we afford our guests—past and present—the utmost courtesy and confidentiality. I'm afraid I can't answer your questions."

Her face fell as she looked from the creature back to Draco.

Patting her hand again, though he _did_ understand the direction of her thoughts, he tried for an upside. Not his strong suit, but for _her_ he'd try just about anything.

"It could be nothing, for all you know, she stayed with Mother on some overnight shopping adventure."

Hermione's brows drew together. That did sound like their mothers, though she couldn't rightly recall any such event. But then the year had been a bit of an emotional mess for the lot of them.

She nodded, forcing a smile. "Maybe you're right."

He smiled as he led her down the corridor to their suite. "Hermione Lestrange—soon to be Malfoy—when will you learn that I'm often right?"

Allowing herself to relax, she let the giddy, delicious zipping of butterflies through her stomach distract her as she watched him unlock the door and push it open.


End file.
